Quiet of the Moon
by The Remedy in the Sickness
Summary: Ivory. The pallor of her skin. Crimson. The sticky liquid covering what would have been ivory. Ebony. The stringy strands she hid more crimson behind. Silver. Her eyes in the glow of the moon, contrasting the ebony night. "Will you take care of her?" A better question would have been, "Is there a reason I can't? Rated T for injuries, just to be safe


The door to the house flew open as the older Valentine walked in.

"Vincent! Vincent are you home?

Footsteps sounded as the raven-haired eight-year-old bounced down the stairs.

"Yes Father! Today was the last day of school so-" he stopped short. Behind his father a girl about his age stood timidly. Bruises and cuts and dried blood littered her skin, and her face was that of terror and suspicion. It was obvious from the lateness of the hour that it had taken Grimoire a long time to convince her to come with him.

"I have to get back to the lab Vincent. Will you take care of her?"

Vincent nodded slowly. Grimoire knelt by the girl and gently spoke,

" This is my son, Vincent. He's going to take care of you, so you can trust him."

She only stared blankly, lip trembling. The clock rang five times, and she cringed at every one, as though the very sound caused her pain. Grimoire rushed out the door, leaving the two children in the threshold. Vincent turned to her, unsure what to do exactly. After a few minutes of awkward silence, a low growl could be heard, and her too-white lips twisted up in a grimace.

"You're hungry." Vincent said in realization, "Come on, I'll get you some food."

He held out his hand, and she looked afraid again, like he would hit her.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

She tentatively reached out her hand and curled her fingers around his index finger, unwilling to touch his whole hand. He led her slowly to the kitchen and sat her on a stool at a breakfast bar. The next few minutes reverted to silence again as Vincent cooked instant oatmeal.

"Sorry if it doesn't taste any good. It's the only thing I know how to make."

She did not even glance up at his voice, lost in her thoughts, or fear, he didn't know which.

After finishing, he set it in front of her with a spoon. She looked at everything, and then at Vincent. He looked at it, and then realized she was being cautious, if he'd decided to poison her or something. It seemed kindness was new to her. He picked up the spoon and ate a bite of it.

"See? It's okay."

He put the spoon in her hand. She lifted it halfway to her mouth before it fell. She tried again, but again dropped the spoon.

'She can't even hold a spoon up…' Vincent thought.

He picked up the utensil again and held it in front of her face. She slowly leaned forward and accepted the mouthful. Once she'd finished, he set the dish in the sink and turned to the girl.

"I should probably get you cleaned up. What happened to you?"

She looked away, and did not speak.

"Anyway, come on, the bathroom's this way." he quickly changed the subject.

They walked down the hall to the bathroom, where he asked her to sit down. She gently lowered herself onto the edge of the tub, a grimace on her face again. Still she made no sound to show her pain.

'Someone must have hurt her really badly for making noise.' He noted.

Now Vincent faced a dilemma.

'How do I clean her cuts?'

She looked at him with her big ash-gray eyes expectantly. Vincent spoke his thoughts,

"I'm trying to figure out how to clean your cuts." He explained. She seemed to understand that he needed to see the full extent of her injuries to help her, but didn't know how to ask to see them. She gritted her teeth and slowly pulled her shirt up far enough to reveal a long gash on her side.

Vincent caught his breath,

"Is this the worst of them?"

She turned her back to him and pulled the back of her shirt past her shoulders. Ugly slices littered her back. A few looked fresh, even still bleeding. Her dirty black garments had hidden the bloodstains he knew had to be there. The lacerations were thin but deep. Whip lashings.

The girl looked over her shoulder at him, as if to say, 'Now what?'

Vincent opened the cabinet below the sink and pulled out bandages and salve. Another glance at the dirt and blood caking her skin, and he grabbed a washcloth and betadine. He set the gauze and salve aside before pouring water on the cloth. He slowly wiped away the layers of grime, trying to be gentle.

Wringing out the little no-longer-white cloth, he now poured the disinfectant on it. He touched the rag to one of the cuts, and she jerked away. Blood dripped from a wound; she'd opened it when she moved quickly. She stared accusingly at him, as though reminding Vincent of his earlier promise not to hurt her.

Vincent held up the cloth apologetically,

"I have to clean out your cuts. If I don't, they could become infected. I know it stings, and I'm really sorry, but I have to do it so it doesn't hurt more in the future."

Understanding flashed in her eyes, and she sat back down. Vincent finished disinfecting her various injuries while she sat quietly, fists clenched, but no tears. She appeared to have long since learned that crying only made the pain last longer.

He gently rubbed the salve onto her lesser wounds and bandaged up the rest of them.

"It's getting late, are you tired?" One look in her face, and he knew she wouldn't be sleeping peacefully anytime soon. She'd probably get wicked nightmares.

"Umm, nevermind. Hey why don't I show you the house?" he asked, "Would you like that?"

She looked blankly for a moment, and then nodded slowly. They spent the next hour walking around before they came to the roof. She lifted her face and stared up at the moon.

"Hey, want to know something neat about the moon?"

She looked over at Vincent, listening.

"Luna. That's the moon's name."

"I like that name. It's pretty." She whispered so quiet he almost didn't hear her.

"That's what I'll call you then."

The sound of the door opening drifted up to them, and Vincent grabbed her hand and began to race down the stairs,

"Father's home!"

They stopped at the door to see Grimoire closing it.

"Hello Vincent. I'm glad to see you took good care of our guest." He said approvingly, looking at the girl now clothed in one of his late wife's dresses. Vincent had rolled up the edges and safety-pinned it to fit her.

"Yeah and I showed Luna all around the house too." He said excitedly.

"Luna?"

"That's what I named her. She said she liked it, so that's what I'm calling her."

Grimoire held his hand up.

"Wait, she spoke?"

"Yep. Why?"

"I spent four hours convincing her to come with me, and in all that time she did not make a single noise or gesture."

The two turned to look at Luna, who just stared back. Vincent walked up to her and beamed.

"You talked to me. Why did you talk for me?"

She just looked at a bandage on her arm, and said softly,

"You promised."


End file.
